


Lonely, Lonely

by castles



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Implied Charles/Erik, Implied Erik/Mystique
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castles/pseuds/castles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is that who 'we' are now?," she murmurs. "You and Erik?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely, Lonely

Raven was still a little tipsy and Charles's haste - looking for a warmer coat, then fingerless gloves, leaving instructions to Hank about recruited kids who might call later - was making her dizzy.

"I'm really sorry about the mess. Really. And Alex feels really bad about the statue. Really."

Charles spares her a glance and sighs. "Erik was right. You're all too young. Just," he finishes putting on his coat and walks towards her, kissing the top of her blond head. " _Behave_ while we're gone, please? Look after the others. This is CIA's first mutant division and its success depends on earning their trust. A good impression is of vital importance."

"Charles. They hate us."

"And we're trying to change that," he kisses her again and gives her a tight hug. They rock back and forth for a bit. "Erik is waiting in the lobby, we have to go. Hopefully, we'll get Shaw. Either way, we have plans - long term plans - for our kind. We'll talk to you, all of you, when we get back."

Raven tilts her head and looks at him sadly. "Is that who 'we' are now?," she murmurs."You and Erik?"

"Please, Raven, don't be like this," he sighs and closes his eyes in frustration. Then in his softest tone, the placating one he used to use when they were children, "Not right now. I'll be back soon. Keep safe and hold the fort for me."

Charles pulls at her hands and coaxes a small smile.

She walks with him to the lobby, then to the parking lot where she watches him get in a car with Erik and drive off. Like she's been doing for months.

It feels like years.

 

*

 

Magneto was in a glass prison.

Mystique was alone, not for the first time, although at that moment in time, sitting in her old bedroom in the manor, she felt more affected by the circumstance than she normally let herself feel.

The bedroom belonged to Jean Grey and Scott Summers now and it looked almost nothing like Mystique remembered it.

Charles warned her before wheeling in, even though it wasn't necessary, the sound of the chair moving against the carpet unmistakable. She was supposed to wait in the library, but nothing in the mental warning indicated he minded that she didn't.

Mystique gave him an appraising look, legs crossed, bracing herself on the bed with her elbows. "You're looking even older. It suits you." Charles had been an old fart since birth.

"And you look beautiful." Mystique was in her natural blue form and wanted to smirk, but the obvious sincerity of the statement didn't leave any room for it.

She stood up suddenly, graceful and quick like a cat, and started strolling around the room, casually inspecting framed pictures. "They'll turn him into a lab rat, Charles," she says conversationally. "They'll torture and experiment on him until there's nothing but a shell left. Does he deserve to go through that again? Has he slipped so much in your graces?"

"You know I won't allow it."

"But you risk it. You left him with them."

"And I **will** make sure they treat him fairly." It echoes in her head, strong and final.

A sudden desire to physically strike him bubbled in Mystique's chest. She kept it in check before Charles did.

A young Jean looked at her gloomily from one of the pictures on the writing desk. She seemed to have been a surly child, surprisingly. It was hard to reconcile the smiley, doe-eyed young woman Mystique knew with the kid on that picture. The girl looked far more menacing as well. The Jean of the present seemed unsure of herself, an unsophisticated telepath with woeful hand-to-hand combat skills. Mystique could snap her in half in two seconds flat.

She had barely finished the thought when she felt a sharp tug on her mind.

"Relax, Xavier," she drawled. "You know I wouldn't harm your precious, darling girl unless she got in the way." Mystique moved to the dressing table, where she found a group picture. A slightly older, much happier Jean was featured, red hair blowing in the wind, an arm hung around Ororo's neck, a hand resting lightly on Xavier's shoulder. Hank stood behind the wheelchair, Scott right beside him, hands behind his back like a schoolboy.

Then it hit her. It was hers, Mystique realized. The dressing table. They just painted it over.

Suddenly, she was overcome with an emotion she couldn't quite name.

"I'll be visiting him next week," Charles said softly. "Is there anything you'd like me to tell him?"

There was no answer. For a long stretch, all Mystique did was run a hand on the edges of the dressing table, mind blank, until Charles called her back, gentle and kind as a breeze. "Raven."

She turned to him and stared, cold and hard. "Does it feed your vanity that he still loves you when he can barely love anything else?"

Charles looked profoundly sad. "No."

 

*

 

Mystique only answered his question when she was already halfway back to the city. _Tell him I'll get him out_.


End file.
